


Silk And Ice

by loves_books



Series: Silk [1]
Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 14:31:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3732367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite the almost oppressive heat of this summer’s evening, all the hairs on Face’s arms and legs prickle into goosebumps at the feeling of his lover’s eyes raking over his body, as he lies stretched out willingly on their bed and patiently holding himself as motionless as he can. </p><p>It's a hot summer's night, and Hannibal gets creative with a pair of silk scarves and some ice cubes...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silk And Ice

The softest silk scarf is tied loosely around Face’s head, looped around several times to prevent any light from reaching his eyes. Its twin is wrapped around his wrists, raising his arms high above his head and trapping them in a gentle embrace against the headboards.

He could get out of the hold in an instant, if he wanted to. A twist, a pull, a slide – but he won’t. He has no desire at all to escape their grip.

“Stay still,” Hannibal whispers, and Face shivers at the deep tone of lust in his lover’s voice.

The cotton sheets are cool against his naked skin, and the pillows soft. Despite the almost oppressive heat of this summer’s evening, all the hairs on Face’s arms and legs prickle into goosebumps at the feeling of his lover’s eyes raking over his body, as he lies stretched out willingly on their bed and patiently holding himself as motionless as he can. His skin practically burns as blue-grey eyes pass over him, though he hasn’t been touched since the scarves were used to gently coax him into position.

Waiting. Face is just waiting.

“Good boy,” comes his eventual reward, immediately followed by a feather-light kiss to his left temple, just above the scarf. Hot lips are there and gone again before Face can even turn his head towards the touch. “Now, open up for me.”

Obediently, Face parts his lips with a slight gasp, tongue darting out instinctively to wet his lips in anticipation of a deeper and more possessive kiss.

A soft chuckle warns him that Hannibal has other plans.

Something cold and wet is traced over his lower lip, unexpected and yet welcome in the near-stifling heat of their bedroom. The object touches his upper lip, too, just once – dead centre, and it’s cold, incredibly cold. Almost like ice.

Ice.

Face can’t hold back his gasp of surprise this time, though in the very next second Hannibal slips the rapidly melting ice cube into his mouth. He closes his lips immediately around it, suckling on the treat.

Hannibal rewards him with a fierce, almost bruising kiss to the neck, sharp teeth brushing Face’s pulse point as he swallows, panting slightly in a silent request for more.

“Good. Very good.” The words are whispered against Face’s collarbone as Hannibal drops his head further still, his hair teasing against Face’s jawline. “Now, remember: not one single word. Just one word from you and I’ll stop.”

Hannibal lifts himself away, then, leaving Face feeling strangely bereft. He clenches his jaw in an attempt to stop himself begging for a touch, any touch. Again, he can feel the burning intensity of those piercing eyes on his skin, and he tightens his grip on the silken scarf which binds him to the bed. He relaxes his head deliberately back into the pillows, lengthening his neck in silent invitation.

Hannibal doesn’t take the bait. Not in the way Face wants him to, at least, though his actions do earn him another touch. Icy cold against his left nipple, circling steadily and sending a shiver right through Face’s body.

He arches his chest away instinctively, his lips parted in a wordless plea as Hannibal suddenly changes direction, swirling the ice cube the other way, then changing again. Clockwise, then anticlockwise, around and around – Face tries not to squirm, tries desperately to be still, tries his hardest to be quiet as Hannibal determinedly coaxes his nipple to a stiff peak.

The melting ice cube sends rivulets of water trailing down his chest, following the path of his ribs, until Face can feel the rumpled sheets growing damp beneath him. It melts too quickly against his skin, Hannibal lifting the last of it away before his fingers can make contact with Face’s chilled flesh.

He knows in his gut what is coming next. Wants it and dreads it and needs it desperately, and chokes on a whimper as a third ice cube starts to circle his neglected right nipple.

Up and down this time, with ever-changing pressure, and Face sinks his teeth hard into his lower lip, arching up into the touch even as he tries to twist away. Each freezing pass sends a contrasting spike of heat straight up his spine, and straight down to his groin. His erection is already painfully hard even though Hannibal still hasn’t touched him there once.

“Such an obedient boy,” his lover growls, stilling the ice directly over his nub and pressing down, down. “My brilliant boy.”

A single warm huff of breath is all the warning Face gets before teeth are taking a firm hold of his chilled left nipple, teasing and tweaking and then, dear God, that hot mouth closes around his flesh fully, sucking and licking, and it’s all strangely perfect.

Another whimper, a choked off cry he can’t quite swallow, as Face’s hypersensitive and overstimulated chest is bathed with both ice and fire. Hannibal knows exactly what he likes, and he knows exactly how much Face can take – sharp teeth biting to the verge of actual pain, the sting soothed by heat from a talented tongue, while at the same time, on the other side, that ice cube starts to circle again. Melting rapidly now, the cold is very nearly too much, but then it is melted away entirely and finally there comes the touch of Hannibal’s fingers, icy cold themselves, tweaking at his erect nub and pinching hard, sending more electricity shooting along his nerves. 

Both pleasure and pain, balanced near-perfectly, in the way only Hannibal can ever manage.

Then Hannibal takes it all away; lips and teeth and tongue, fingers and heat and ice, all gone. Face puffs his chest out, desperate to recapture even the ghost of those perfect touches, suddenly alone again beneath the soft silk of those scarves as he shivers with aborted pleasure, painfully aware of the growing ache between his legs.

“No, please,” he croaks helplessly, unable to swallow the words this time. 

“What was that?” Louder than the whispered words from before; more like the Colonel than Face’s lover. “Did you say something? The first words, remember, and I stop. Do you want me to stop, Templeton? Tell me now and I’ll stop.”

Inside, he is screaming his answer – don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop please please please – but Face manages to haul his body back under some sort of control. He unclenches his hands a fraction, suddenly aware of the way the silk is straining in his grip. He shifts his legs a little wider apart, too, though it does nothing to ease his burning need. He can feel his erection bobbing in the warm air, straining upwards and reaching for his stomach; he’s nearly desperate for a touch there now. Any touch, even if that touch does come straight from the freezer.

“Just perfect, baby.” The almost-roar is gone, Hannibal’s voice a tender growl once more. A brief press of lips against Face’s own, possessive and passionate and somehow proud. “You are so perfect, and so beautiful. Holding yourself so still and so quiet, laid out like this just for me. Only for me.”

Yes, Face thinks desperately, only for Hannibal. Only ever for Hannibal, now; no one else can ever come close to doing what this incredible man does to him so effortlessly.

Ice against his clenched lips, and Face opens willingly to accept the gift, glad of both the water and the momentary distraction from his need.

Ice against his chest, and Face takes in a sharp breath through his nose as Hannibal swirls it downwards in a meandering pattern over pecs and abdominals, down his twitching sides and back up again, melting the entire time in an icy cold trail over his heated skin.

The remaining sliver of ice is pressed into the dip of Face’s navel, startling him into crunching down hard on the cube in his mouth, as a hot tongue swipes over the trail before licking away the tiny pool of melted water.

He’s so hard it’s actually starting to hurt, now, his body both overstimulated and yet touch-starved at the very same time. Face prays Hannibal takes pity on him, and he tries to keep his legs as still as possible so his lover doesn’t even think about melting ice between his toes or against the backs of his knees, where he is so sensitive to even the lightest touch.

“Getting a bit desperate, are you?” A smile in Hannibal’s voice, yet in his silk-wrapped darkness Face can also hear a definite tension and a matching need – his lover is close, too, every bit as affected by this as Face himself is.

He wonders distantly if Hannibal is naked yet. The other man had still been fully dressed when he’d stripped Face tenderly and guided him down to the bed before wrapping silk gently around both his eyes and his wrists.

“That looks like it hurts. My poor baby.” Hannibal’s voice has moved away now, further down the bed, and Face can’t fight the urge to buck his hips up from the mattress in frustration. It earns him a deep chuckle and a warm, slick hand around his aching cock at long last.

Hannibal squeezes him with the perfect amount of pressure, coaxing an involuntary groan of relief from Face’s throat. The sound seems to be forgiven, though, as that fist strokes him once from base to tip, and he feels almost as if he could come just from that. He just needs one more touch, one more stroke from those long, rough, hot fingers.

It isn’t that simple. It never is, not when Hannibal gets like this.

“So beautiful, and so eager.” The hand is gone, and no, Hannibal wouldn’t, surely – “ Patience,” Hannibal tells him as he swirls an ice cube around the head of Face’s cock. It burns almost like fire against his heated flesh, but before he can twist away, his lover lays his other arm heavily across Face’s lower belly, effectively pinning him in place against the mattress.

Face whines high in his throat as he tosses his head back and forth against the pillows, tugging frantically on the scarf, and the ice is immediately lifted away, the weight on his belly easing.

“Temp? Remember, one word and I’ll stop.” Hannibal sounds concerned now, worried and overprotective and slightly unsure, and Face loves him so very much. “Tell me if it’s too much, love.”

Very deliberately, feeling Hannibal’s intent gaze watching his every move, Face tightens his grip on the silk scarf once again, flexing his shoulders and his biceps. He can feel the flush of heat and excitement on his chest as he nods once, and the arm across his belly clamps back down instantly.

He knows it’s coming, but the light brush of ice against the underside of his cock still makes him shudder helplessly, his thighs tensing and jerking slightly as Hannibal follows the full vein all the way down to the root, millimetre by painstaking millimetre.

It has the immediate and obvious effect of partially deflating his throbbing erection, the ache fading to a deep yet still desperate need. Face can still feel his balls drawn tight and high, and a fire burns low in his groin. The weight across his belly is constant and welcome, Hannibal’s bare arm a firm and unyielding gift for him to grind up against even as the ice is removed yet again, replaced now by that hot, slick hand stroking him rapidly back to full hardness. 

Face writhes as much as he is permitted, pulling on the scarf looped around the headboard and biting at his tongue to keep from screaming at the sweet torment. All the muscles in his legs are locked, his toes reaching heavenward as that wonderful hand keep stroking, and that fire in his belly grows higher and hotter, and – 

And it’s gone, again, just as Face feels the first sparks of his orgasm starting to rocket through his body and explode behind the darkness of the silk. He can’t take much more of this, surely he can’t. 

“You can take it,” his lover whispers, pride and passion warring with the desperation Face can also hear there. It thrills him to know Hannibal is so close to the edge without a single touch from him. “One more cube, beautiful boy. One more and I’ll let you come.”

One more, okay, Face can do one more. Possibly. Panting now, he’s gasping for breath; the heated air in the room is thick with the scent of arousal and lust, his body sweating yet shivering, and everything is exactly as he needs it to be. 

Hannibal’s hand is big. Huge, in fact; easily big enough to wrap around Face’s straining cock entirely, with a smaller sliver of ice trapped in the circle of his fist and pressing right against fiery skin.

No. Face was wrong, he can’t do this. Can’t come, surely, not like this, not with the ice sending shivers through him and the heat of his lover’s hand stoking him higher at the very same time. Hannibal moves his fist slowly, carefully, up and then down again, slowly and steadily as the ice melts rapidly against Face’s burning cock. The icy water runs down in streams, pooling around his balls and slipping further down, teasing, chilling sensitive flesh.

The steady, careful strokes work their magic, though, and Face knows this time he is starting to fly, dimly aware that when he inevitably crashes, he will crash hard. It’s so indescribably good. So cold, yet so hot at the same time.

The heavy weight on his belly is suddenly gone, just as the last of the ice against his cock melts away, and Face feels Hannibal shift his weight on the bed a second before he feels a hot, dry finger swiping through the melted water around his groin, sliding back and back and back, finding his untouched hole.

The finger circles for a second before pressing in a fraction, not even up to the first knuckle. And that’s all it takes, just that presence and pressure at his tight hole, the chilled fist around his cock tightening and twisting and then Face gasps as he tips over the edge suddenly, coming endlessly hard, his body arching up from the bed as all his muscles lock.

“Beautiful, just beautiful.” Hannibal sounds a million miles away as Face’s orgasm goes on and on, longer than should even be possible, burning ice rocketing through his veins and stars sparking behind his bound eyes. “What a good man. My beautiful, brilliant man.”

Hannibal strokes Face gently through his release, as he writhes and tenses and spasms in pleasure. It’s one of the most intense orgasms he’s ever had, overpowering in the best possible way as all his nerves sing and his mind soars, though he surprises himself by remaining more or less silent throughout. And just when he starts to crash back downwards, the darkness from the scarf threatening to become something more solid, that gentle hand is gone, and the presence of that single finger is lifted away.

Movement, though, and an unmistakeable grunting from Hannibal as Face tries to catch his breath, dimly aware of the ache in his shoulders from where he’s been pulling so hard on the scarf, and the hot mess he’s made on his own stomach. More grunting, followed by a short, sharp cry he knows well, and a matching heat spattering onto his belly and chest as his lover shouts out his own release, coming all over Face’s sated body in burning ropes.

Minutes or possibly hours pass by, both of them panting to catch their breath and coasting back down to earth, before Face feels a warm, damp cloth tenderly cleaning the worst of their combined mess from his limp body. 

“There, now. That’s a bit better, isn’t it?” A single, reverent kiss to Face’s spent cock, then a moment passes before he feels shaking hands at his wrists, unwinding the silk scarf carefully and massaging the lightly chafed skin. 

His arms are guided down gently to lie by his sides, his shoulders kneaded briefly yet firmly, and Face can’t bring himself to do anything at all other than lie there basking in the attention, with what he knows is a silly, satisfied grin on his face.

Finally, strong fingers start to unwind the layers of silk from around Face’s head, and the world gradually grows lighter until eventually he finds himself blinking up into his lover’s beautiful blue-grey eyes.

“All right?” Hannibal asks quietly, still a little breathless himself, as he strokes one hand tenderly down Face’s cheek.

Face has to swallow hard before he manages croak out, “Better than all right, Hannibal. Perfect. Ten out of ten, for sure.”

Hannibal’s gentle smile turns to a definite smirk, and as Face watches he reaches up and over to pick up something from the bedside table. “You sound a little hot and bothered, kid. Here; can’t have you getting dehydrated in this heat.”

And Face can only laugh as Hannibal holds up another cube of ice for him, one silver-grey eyebrow quirked in obvious amusement. He nods and opens his mouth to accept the gift, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks. They’re both still naked and sticky, and overheated and slightly chilled at the same time, and he can hear Hannibal crunching happily on a cube of his own as they curl up together on the damp sheets in the heat of a summer’s night.

Chances are good, Face feels sure, that he’ll never look at an ice cube in quite the same way again.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Ice Cube Challenge on the H/F Yahoo group - basically, the challenge was to write a story that was all about the sex, and ice cubes, and anything else you wanted!


End file.
